


Lost and Found

by mataglap



Category: Overwatch (Video Game), Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Healing, M/M, Magical Realism, Stardew Valley AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-25 16:30:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18578269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mataglap/pseuds/mataglap
Summary: On the first sunny day of summer, a stranger comes to Stardew Valley to search for something he's lost.





	Lost and Found

**Author's Note:**

> I know you're all expecting this to be cute and fluffy and it is, but it also isn't. There are several heavy themes discussed or mentioned throughout which I can't tag for because it would spoil the story, but it's rated M not only for the sexy moments.
> 
> There's still more fluff than angst and there is a happy ending, but if you can't or don't want to take a risk, **I posted a note at the end which lists the heavy stuff in more detail. Please be aware that it will spoil the majority of the plot for you.**

The stranger arrives on the first sunny day of summer. 

There's a spot at the far end of the train station where chanterelles like to grow, and it's still a bit early, but Linus decides to check anyway. It's a short walk from his tent to the station, and two straight days of rain combined with today's sunny weather could have convinced the mushrooms to peek out. He knows the schedule by heart: every morning and every evening the train runs through the valley, making a token ten-second stop at the station. It's rare that someone actually steps off it, even rarer that it's someone who doesn't live in the valley in the first place. It's a wonder that the train bothers to stop at all, to be honest. Probably some stupid law, he muses, stepping over the rails and listening to the shrill whistle in the distance. 

The chanterelles are starting to show, but they're still too small for his liking: merely a handful of yellow dots scattered on the ground. No one else knows this spot, since nobody bothers to go to the station at all, and so he decides to leave them be for a day or two, come back when they're fully grown. The train lets out a heavy huff, whistles again — he's so used to it by now that he doesn't even wince — and slowly rolls out of the station.

Linus nearly jumps when the last carriage unexpectedly reveals a person on the platform.

The man stands still, gaping around like he's in some exotic, wonderful place and not at a small town's dilapidated train station. He's glaringly out of place with his fancy city clothes, tattoos and piercings. Facial piercings, no less. Abigail coming back from a trip to the city with a metal ring in her nostril caused enough of an uproar; Linus didn't even know one could stick bits of metal into _this_ part of one's nose.

He looks like he could be dangerous. Linus is the last person in the world to judge by appearances, but the stranger's wearing a shirt that leaves his arms bare, and somehow Linus doubts those muscles have been gained through honest labor. This is someone who doesn't need a weapon to do harm. And speaking of weapons, Linus has watched enough movies back in the day, and the case resting at the stranger's feet isn't likely to contain an actual musical instrument.

Naturally the moment he arrives to that conclusion, the stranger notices him and suddenly he's subject to a piercing stare. Linus is no expert when it comes to manners, but he's pretty sure it's rude to stare at someone like this. It's definitely too late to run and hide in the bushes; all he can do now is stand his ground when the stranger picks up his suspicious case and decisively jumps off the platform.

"I'm looking for someone." Not so much as a hello. Typical city folk, rude and demanding. "A tall man in his forties with a prosthetic left arm. Wears a cowboy hat, carries a revolver, smokes cigars. Have you seen anyone like that?"

Jesse fits every part of the description except for the revolver. Linus is in no hurry to put a dear friend in potential danger, but he's long forgotten how to lie, and he searches for an appropriate answer a second too long. The hesitation gives him away: the stranger straightens up, eyes widening, and takes a step forward.

"You've seen him," he says urgently, staring at Linus with a frown so murderous that it's all he can do not to flinch. "When did you see him? Where did he go?"

It's definitely a bad idea to disclose Jesse's whereabouts to a dangerous man, but considering the glint of madness in those eyes, not giving an answer might be an even worse one. Nobody will come to his aid if the man attacks, not here at the station that hasn't seen another human being in weeks. Between the two of them, Jesse's chances in a physical confrontation certainly look better. Linus eyes the stranger's hands, balled into fists at his sides, and wishes he had chosen to pick his mushrooms in any other spot around the town.

The stranger notices his gaze, flexes his fingers and scoffs. "I assure you I don't wish him any harm. Him or yourself, for that matter. I just need to find him. He's — we're old friends."

Linus may not be good with people, but even he notices that pause. "He didn't mention any friends coming to visit," he points out.

A humorless smile. "It's very much not a planned visit."

"If you know him, why don't you ask after him by name?" Linus challenges, feeling brave.

"He uses many names." The stranger pauses, grimaces when it becomes clear Linus won't be forthcoming with any information. "Does Jesse or Joel ring a bell?"

Jesse has never mentioned having any other names, either… and it's really hard to think with that menacing stare at close range.

As if he read Linus's thoughts, the stranger takes a step back, sighs and rubs a hand across his face. "I apologize," he says tiredly, suddenly much less demanding. "I'm being rude. My name is Hanzo."

Linus politely introduces himself in return, but still keeps his mouth shut otherwise.

The stranger inhales deeply, chews his lip, finally folds his arms across his chest. "It is very important that I find him," he says, suddenly avoiding eye contact. "I've come from very far to search for him. You will have my gratitude if you can spare any information."

 _You could just say 'please'_ , Linus thinks, not so stupid as to say it out loud, and sighs. The best solution to the situation would be to send the man on a wild goose chase in the mountains… but what he just said does ring true, and there _are_ dark circles under his eyes and lines of exhaustion on his face, and he doesn't look nearly old enough to be almost as grey as Linus himself.

Linus has always been too soft for his own good. He can only hope that it won't land his friend in trouble.

* * *

The valley is a beautiful place, all lush nature and rustic charm, and were he in any other circumstances, Hanzo would absolutely stop and give his surroundings the admiration they deserve. Maybe he'll have the opportunity later — but right now it's impossible to think about any 'later', considering what's ahead.

Or rather, _who's_ ahead. If the instinct that pushes him forward doesn't lie.

The path takes him around the outskirts of the village, away from suspicious stares and potential hostilities, and he's grateful for it. The wild man at the station was harmless enough, but in a place like this things might not be what they seem, and Hanzo would rather avoid anything that could stand between him and his goal.

The goal which, according to the wild man Linus, should be right around the corner he's about to take.

Hanzo slows to a stop, holds his breath and listens. Nothing. The thick hedge along the path makes for an excellent, if inconvenient sound barrier, and all he hears is buzzing of insects and a birdsong overhead. On his way from the station he's encountered at least three scenes that deserved to be immortalized in art, and this one is no exception: the hedge is so vibrantly green it glows in the morning sun, leaves so pristine and shiny with wax they almost look fake, and only a pink flowering vine breaks the uniform wall of green, weaving in and out in whimsical streaks. The hedge, the vine, the trees on the other side of the path and the way sunlight filters through their leaves, even the hue of the cloudless sky above — all of this beauty should be seen and admired by many people, not just him alone.

It is also the absolute last set of circumstances he'd expect to find Jesse McCree in.

One more fortifying breath, and Hanzo finally takes the step that brings him around the corner.

The first thing he sees is a goat, tied to a tree with a loose length of rope. The animal gives him a long, assessing look before it returns to nibbling at a patch of grass near a low wooden fence, and continuing the trend, even the fence is pretty: something bright green and covered with tiny white flowers climbs the posts and twists around the rough hewn planks. There's a susurrus of sprinklers in the background and a loud buzz of bees from a nearby hive, and something — probably the white flowering plant — fills the air with a strong and sweet aroma, and in the fenced off area, in the middle of a patch of naked earth, outside the protective shade of trees, stands Jesse McCree, scraping at the ground with some sort of a tool.

Hanzo stops, leans against a tree and watches.

Either it's really Jesse or it's a cruel joke, a punishment tailored just for him. The signature stetson is the same. The arm is the same, even if half of it is covered by a glove. Jesse looks just like he looked on their last assignment together, except he's unarmed and more tanned than Hanzo remembers, and definitely dirtier than Hanzo had ever seen him, from the sleeveless sweat-stained shirt to dirty jeans to muddy boots. Most of all, he's absurdly out of place in this bucolic setting.

His motions are sure, practiced. Whatever he's doing, he's been doing it for a while. Two years, at a guess.

Hanzo only realizes he's hyperventilating when he gets lightheaded from it. He leans heavier against the tree, tries to control his breathing, discovers it's easier when he closes his eyes, but that in turn makes him dizzy; _you are not a damsel and you will not faint_ , he tells himself sternly. There's still a chance it's not Jesse. In fact, basic logic and common sense dictate that it can't be Jesse.

On the other hand, common sense has already gone out of the window, the rules are different, and there's no reason it shouldn't be Jesse. Unless it really is the punishment he's due for.

The goat lets out a sudden long bleat, obnoxiously loud and startling. Hanzo jolts and opens his eyes, and Jesse glances in the direction of the sound and freezes with the tool in his hands. For one horrible second Hanzo is convinced Jesse won't recognize him.

The buzzing of bees becomes thunderously loud.

"If this is another goddamn dream," Jesse starts, cutting off mid-sentence.

It's his voice, and the tone of disbelief mixed with exasperation that Hanzo had heard from him so many times, usually right after a mission went off the course. A voice he thought he'd never hear again, which he feared he'd forget. If this is a dream, it's really the cruelest he's ever had.

Jesse straightens up, balances the tool against the fence, pulls the gloves off. "Didn't expect you to show up here," he says in a carefully neutral voice.

Hanzo can still read his body language and sees wariness and mistrust. Not surprising, considering the circumstances.

"I did not expect to end up here either," he says faintly.

The sweet summer air is suddenly cloying, the humidity choking, the warmth oppressive. He's no longer sure if bees can be blamed for the loud buzzing in his ears. Jesse stands before him, ten meters and a universe away, and Hanzo's feet might as well be rooted to the ground. Perhaps this _is_ a dream after all, one of those horrible ones where he's aware he's dreaming but he can't move —

Jesse's face crumples suddenly. "Please don't be a dream," he says, voice cracking, and that finally gives Hanzo the strength to push away from the tree and half-walk, half-run towards him on still-weak legs; Jesse lurches into motion and jumps over the fence, and they collide with enough force Hanzo would stagger, were he not already locked inside Jesse's arms.

He's dirty and smells strongly of sweat, his shirt is damp with it, and Hanzo never wants to let go. Wraps his arms around Jesse's torso, holds on as tight as he can. Doesn't say anything. Even if he could speak past the vice around his throat, there are no words in the face of such wonder.

Jesse breathes his name and pulls him even closer. "God, I missed you," he says unsteadily.

It can't be a dream. There are no dreams this vivid. Not even Hanzo's mind could create a full sensory reproduction of something last experienced years ago.

"Missed you so bad." Jesse loosens the grip on his shoulders to run shaky hands over his body, pulls away to touch his face, the grey sides of his undercut, fingers skimming along the skin as if he's afraid Hanzo might dissolve under the touch. There are tears in his eyes already. "I shouldn't have hoped to see you again, but I did, God, I did —"

"And here I am," Hanzo says when Jesse runs out of words. It's a wonder he managed a coherent reply, because the dizziness doesn't seem to pass and there's a dull ache in his chest now, too. He wonders distantly if he's actually going to cry.

Jesse pulls him back into the embrace."And here you are," he says thickly. "Goddammit. That's — that's not how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to move on. Get over me. Have a good life."

"Did you really believe that would happen?" Hanzo murmurs into the skin of his neck.

"I tried. I _tried_ to hope you would. Tried not to think about you, but I did, every day. I'm sorry."

"Why should you be sorry?"

"Because I shouldn't —" Jesse's voice breaks and he clears his throat, takes a few shaky breaths. "Because I'm prayin' that this is not a dream and I should be prayin' it is." 

"Jesse —"

The words stick in his throat. Saying Jesse's name out loud feels dangerous, risky, as if some wrathful god might overhear and take away this undeserved miracle. Suddenly Hanzo knows with absolute certainty that if he speaks again, he _will_ cry; that's what it is, this ache in his chest, it's years' worth of tears he never managed to shed.

"Please don't be a dream," Jesse whispers, tightening the embrace. He manages to suppress the first sob, but the next breaks loose and that apparently is enough of a catalyst: Hanzo closes his eyes and the tears finally fall.

* * *

After they're finally done crying and clutching at each other, Jesse leads him to a garden table under an apple tree, brings him cold beer and a bowl of peaches and reluctantly excuses himself to take a shower. Either it's the fastest shower he's ever had, or Hanzo unknowingly spaces out: he's still staring at the already-bruising peach in his hands when Jesse reappears, in a clean t-shirt and dripping water from barely-toweled hair.

"Sorry I look like a caveman," he says sheepishly, smoothing down his beard. "I'd have shaved, but I half convinced myself you'd be gone by the time I was done."

Jesse's beard is an unevenly trimmed mess and his hair is too long again, but it's far from a bad look. "When did you last shave, two years ago?"

"Hey now. I got better things to do than makin' myself look pretty. There's nobody to look pretty for 'round here, anyway. The animals don't care and the local folk don't judge."

"You had years to find someone to be pretty for," Hanzo points out.

Jesse scoffs and gives him a crooked smile. "Not a chance, darlin'."

The endearment hurts, but in a good way. Like ripping an old scab off his soul.

"Not that some folks ain't doin' their darnedest to get me hitched. There's this sweet old lady who considers it a personal insult I'm single —"

Hanzo finally realizes that Jesse is hovering near his chair and starting to babble. It's a testament to how tired he is that it took him so long to connect the dots.

"Come here," he says quietly, standing up and reaching out.

Jesse steps into his space slowly, like he's afraid he'll spook him. The kiss is gentle, barely a lingering press of lips, so very different from how they used to kiss but still more than enough to make Hanzo breathless. Something withered and long forgotten stirs inside him, not quite alive yet but no longer dead, and he breaks the kiss and presses their foreheads together, momentarily overwhelmed by the feeling.

"Still feels wrong to be happy you're here," Jesse murmurs, gently rubbing the back of his neck.

"Would you rather I were somewhere else?"

"You know what I mean." Jesse hesitates, then presses a quick kiss to his temple and lets go, steps back, drops into a chair opposite Hanzo's. "Try the beer. Brewed it myself last winter. Not bad for a first attempt, if I do say so myself."

Hanzo sits down, leans back in the chair and finally looks his fill. Jesse looks good, now that he isn't covered in filth. Healthy, tanned, muscular, _ripped_ , as Hana would say, maybe even more than he was while in Overwatch. He hasn't aged at all, really, and now Hanzo looks like ten years his senior, with barely any black left in his hair and the ugly bags under his eyes.

No matter. Jesse is happy enough to see him. "Farmer's life seems to suit you," he says.

"Nobody's more surprised than me, but yeah. Keeps me busy at least. And," Jesse looks to the side, at the abandoned garden patch with the tool still where he left it, "feels good to grow things instead of destroying them, for once."

Hanzo wouldn't know: he's never grown or created anything meaningful in his life.

"So this is your idea of paradise?"

Jesse scoffs, shakes his head. "That's an overstatement and a half. Too much sweat and cow dung, for one." He wiggles the fingers of his left hand. "And the dirt keeps gettin' into my joints. It's nice, but definitely not somethin' I want to do forever."

Hanzo hums an acknowledgement and takes a sip of beer. It's sharp and refreshing, and only when it hits the back of his tongue does he realize how parched he is; he ends up draining half the glass in one go, and when he finally lowers it, he meets Jesse's hungry gaze and freezes.

The forgotten emotion stirs again: a flash of promise, a fleeting shadow that disappears between one breath and the next.

Jesse blinks and clears his throat. "The beer okay?"

"It's good," he says truthfully, and Jesse beams with pride. "So you don't plan to stay here?"

Jesse stretches his legs out and slumps in the chair with a sigh. "I didn't really think about leavin' yet," he says slowly. "Still got lots to do here. But it doesn't feel like a final destination, you know? Some folks are here to stay, I think, but some will go, sooner or later. Some already have." He glances at Hanzo. "That train doesn't just drop people off."

"But you like it here."

"I do. Learned many good things, unlearned some bad ones. It's a good place, but deep down I've always known I'd leave someday." Jesse reaches out across the table and Hanzo takes his hand, shockingly warm now that his own is cold and damp from the glass. "Probably to look for you, when time felt right. Didn't expect you to crash the party so soon."

In the past Hanzo would have laughed at the joke, but he's yet to remember how to. He tightens the grip instead and Jesse returns it, just shy of painful.

"Either way, the place sure is nicer than I would've expected," Jesse says finally. "Makes me wonder how I deserve it."

"You deserve this and more," Hanzo says hotly. "More than I ever would, that is certain. I'm sure I wouldn't be here if not for you."

"And you undersell yourself, as always." Jesse pulls at his hand and raises it to his lips. The touch sends goosebumps across Hanzo's skin. "Maybe there's no such thing as paradise. Maybe we just go from place to place, and it's up to us what we do with it. Or, heh, maybe now it's paradise, because you're here."

"Don't say that," Hanzo murmurs, looking away from Jesse's brilliant smile. "I'm still waiting for someone to realize I don't deserve to be here and cast me where I belong."

"You belong with me. And I will follow you into the fires of Hell and have words with Satan himself if I have to."

"How romantic," Hanzo says drily.

Jesse chuckles, kisses his hand again, then tugs at it. "Come. I'll show you around."

* * *

Jesse lives in a charming little cottage that looks like it could feature in a brochure praising the benefits of country life. Apart from the traitorous goat, called Ashe, he also has a cow named Dolores, a cat named Moira and a coop full of chickens that not only he also gave names to, but somehow tells apart. He grows a few crops in a field behind the house and keeps a small garden in the front yard. He's planted a double row of maple trees along the road leading to his farm and started a small orchard to the side. He has even begun constructing a greenhouse.

It's ridiculous how much he has created in the two years Hanzo spent methodically sowing destruction.

At the end of the tour Jesse attempts to get him acquainted with Dolores the cow and that's where Hanzo finally puts his foot down, both because of the smell and because of the animal's creepy vacant stare. Jesse doesn't take offense. On the contrary, he's greatly amused by the vehement refusal and apparently even more by Hanzo's expression.

It still feels like a dream to have him again. The downside is that the memories are threatening to resurface, stirred by the miracle, and Hanzo pushes them back down as hard as he can: this is a time for joy, not nightmares. He doesn't remember how joy feels but it will come, he's certain, once the relief and the shock make space for it, and for now he's content basking in the glow of Jesse's happiness. 

"So is this all you do?" he asks, trailing after Jesse on the path through the field back to the house. It's too narrow to walk side by side, and Jesse keeps glancing over his shoulder every ten seconds; Hanzo would be amused if he didn't understand. "Grow things, make beer, shovel dung? Forgive me if it doesn't sound particularly interesting."

Jesse snorts. "I think you're in for a surprise, darlin'. We're not in Kansas anymore. There's magic. Little forest spirits, fairies and such, actual monsters in the abandoned mine, Dungeons and Dragons style, there's even a Gandalf wannabe who lives at the edge of the forest. And, well, I'm pretty sure you can't die here, no matter what you do, so that opens a whole world of possibilities —"

Hanzo stops dead in his tracks. "Do I want to know how you know that?"

After a few paces Jesse stops too, turns around with a sheepish smile. "Well. I might've tested it, I think? Accidentally! Don't give me that look."

"Jesse McCree, if you get yourself killed after I finally found you, I'll find you again and make you wish you were dead," Hanzo hisses, tamping down the prickling wave of cold fear.

"I know, I know. Wasn't intentional, I swear. I was pokin' around the old mine and learned the hard way that bullets don't do jack shit against creepy blobs of ooze. Woke up at the local doctor's, in one piece and with a headache. Wasn't keen on repeatin' the experiment, obviously, but I guess it makes sense."

" _Please_ don't do it again."

"I got you on my side now," Jesse says cheerfully, resuming the walk. "Ain't no blob that can stand against us both, especially with your —" He pauses, stops again, abruptly enough that Hanzo nearly walks into him, and turns to look at Hanzo's arm. "— dragons. Are they…?"

"Gone." Hanzo looks down too, at the dead and silent tattoo. "They are free of their bond. I don't know what happened to them. I guess they returned to the plane they came from."

"Damn." Jesse's smile fades. "That good or bad?"

"I… don't know yet. It's different. Quiet. " Hanzo runs a finger along the dragon's coil. "It's very strange, not having my emotions echoed back at me. I think I won't miss that particular feedback loop."

"Huh." Jesse extends a hand and Hanzo lets himself be pulled closer, into another embrace. "Guess that's not so bad."

"If this is what I get in return, I'm very happy to have paid the price," he murmurs into Jesse's shoulder.

* * *

They talk. It quickly becomes apparent that even a meter of distance between them is too much, so they abandon the garden table and relocate to the porch swing, where Hanzo scoots closer until Jesse is a solid wall of warmth at his side and Jesse wraps an arm around his shoulders. There's an immediate and unspoken agreement to avoid heavy topics, so Jesse does most of the talking. It suits Hanzo just fine. He listens to Jesse talk about the farm instead, about the village and its inhabitants, about strange and wonderful things he's seen in the surrounding forests and the mine.

Eventually he opens his eyes and realizes that not only Jesse isn't talking anymore, but he has no idea when he stopped.

"I'm sorry," he mutters.

"How much sleep have you been getting?" Jesse asks quietly.

"Five hours, more or less," Hanzo lies. There's already too much unnecessary worry in Jesse's voice. "It's not normally a problem."

"Take a nap? Been a while since I got to be your pillow."

Hanzo sits up straight and rubs at his sore eyes. Sleeping during the day would mean not sleeping at night, and even though Jesse is here now, solid, whole and as real as he can be, Hanzo really doesn't want to risk it. "I'm sure you have better things to do," he says, nodding towards the neglected garden patch. "Whatever it was that you were doing before I came here, for example."

Jesse wrinkles his nose. "Somehow I don't give a shit about carrots right now. They can wait. I've been meanin' to ask, how did you know where to find me?"

Hanzo hesitates. The memory is already fuzzy and fleeting, even though it all happened only hours ago. "I'm not sure," he says slowly. "I was at a big, busy train station and I just… picked the train that felt right. I don't know how I knew which train to take or where to get off, but somehow I knew. And then a modern day caveman directed me towards you."

Jesse huffs a silent laugh at the description. "That'd be Linus. A weirdo and a half, but he's good people. Guess I owe him an extra large basket of produce the next time I see him."

"He wasn't thrilled to help me," Hanzo says drily. "I'm sure he would have bolted if I didn't have an obvious physical advantage."

"He helped the love of my life find me, I don't care if he hated it."

Hanzo's face flushes mortifyingly warm. "Stop it."

"What? It's true." The arm around his shoulders tightens, and judging by the tone of Jesse's voice, he's wearing that shit-eating grin he's always worn while having fun at Hanzo's expense.

"Even so, must you make it sound _cheesy_?"

"Honey, I'm nothin' but cheesy when it comes to you."

Jesse adjusts in the seat to turn more towards him and Hanzo is helpless not to glance at his expression, and when he does, he can't look away: the shit-eating grin is there, yes, and he didn't even realize how much he missed it too, but as he watches, it morphs into a different smile. This is the warm smile Hanzo fell in love with, one that transforms Jesse's handsome, but rough features into something objectively, unquestionably beautiful. The smile it had taken him so long to realize was for him, and for him alone.

He reaches up and discovers that his palm still perfectly fits the curve of Jesse's jaw. Jesse closes his eyes and pushes his face into Hanzo's hand, rubs his cheek against it like a cat, nuzzles the inside of it, plants a kiss there. The scales are tipping, slowly but surely. With every second all of this feels less like a dream, and more like waking up from one; everything around him, from the taste of peaches still in his mouth to the texture of Jesse's beard under his fingers, feels increasingly solid and real, and the memories of everything that happened before feel like last vestiges of a bad nightmare. 

He couldn't have nodded off for more than a few minutes, but he feels like he finally _really_ woke up.

Jesse's eyes widen when the hand on his jaw slides further and rests on the back of his neck. Hanzo doesn't even have to pull him in. The slightest pressure and Jesse follows, leaning in until their mouths meet. It's as gentle as the first time but somehow breathtakingly different, and the near-electric jolt it sends through Hanzo's core finally does it, shocks to life the part of him he buried two years ago.

Jesse groans very quietly. Hanzo lets go of his neck for the few seconds he needs to grab the metal hand hesitantly hovering over his waist and press it firmly down. He exploits the gasp that elicits and deepens the kiss, nearly dizzy from how much he suddenly _feels_ , like he's been a walking corpse all this time and only now came back to life — and where there was nothing, there's suddenly a flame, shocking in its intensity and stoked by every touch.

That's how it used to be. That's how they used to kiss: greedily, gasping, always hungry for more.

"Been killin' me," Jesse murmurs fervently when they part to catch a breath. "You have no idea."

Hanzo's hand has migrated into Jesse's hair without any conscious involvement from his side. "What stopped you?" he asks, relaxing the grip and gently scratching at Jesse's scalp to soothe any pain he might have caused. He realizes he knows the answer a second too late and wishes he could take the question back, because he absolutely does not want to think about anything else than here and now — but Jesse, unfortunately, chooses to take it seriously.

"You kinda got the short end of the stick," he says quietly, metal thumb rubbing back and forth on Hanzo's waist, distracting even through the shirt. "All I had to deal with was two lonely years, and you, well… Couldn't have been easy."

Hanzo snorts bitterly. "An understatement. Can we not discuss it now?"

Jesse actually dodges the kiss this time. "Just thought you might've needed time," he says, apologetic as if he did something wrong. "You know. To adjust. And you probably still do."

Hanzo looks into his eyes. "I did, and I adjusted."

"Kinda fast, don't you think? Not that I don't want this, you have no idea how much I do, I just —" Jesse extracts his arm from where it's been squashed between the swing and Hanzo's side and strokes his cheek with the backs of his fingers. "I just really don't wanna fuck this up after… everything."

"I'm _fine_ ," Hanzo growls, frustrated.

"Sweetheart, you ain't smiled once since you got here. I'm not blind. And," Jesse's fingers move to his undercut, "last time I saw you, there was a lot less silver up here."

"Is that a criticism?"

"Are you kiddin'? I love it. The grey always suited you. I just don't think you're as fine as you claim to be."

Hanzo sighs heavily and pulls away. "I wasn't feeling very well, yes, but I am fine now. Or I was, until you _killed the mood_."

For all the frustration, he can't even offer token resistance when Jesse puts an arm around his shoulders again; disarmed, he sighs and leans into his side.

"You've always been shit at takin' care of yourself," Jesse says bluntly. "Now look me in the eye and tell me that changed for the better."

Hanzo gives him a sideways glare instead.

"Took me way longer than one day to adjust when I came here — I know, I know, this is different. But far as I know," Jesse continues, entirely unperturbed and smiling slightly again, "we have all the time in the world now. We can take it slow for one day. Alright?"

"Don't expect me to thank you," Hanzo grumbles.

Jesse chuckles good-naturedly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

The morning must have passed into afternoon by now, the sky is still cloudless, but it hasn't really gotten any hotter, and the temperature is just right — enough to suffuse with warmth, but not enough to cause discomfort. Admittedly, Jesse radiates extra heat and that does make Hanzo sweat a little, but right now he'd rather drown in sweat than move away. There's a certain lazy quality to everything now, as nature slows down after frantic morning activity, and it makes it unexpectedly easy to wind down: a few deep breaths and the frustration fades, annoyance gives way to fondness, and Hanzo relaxes, leans heavily into Jesse's side and stops thinking about anything at all.

Some indeterminate time later Jesse breaks the silence with a gusty sigh. "Just contemplatin' the lengths to which I have blueballed myself," he says lightly in response to Hanzo's inquiring hum.

"You will not find sympathy from me," Hanzo murmurs. 

"Spiteful bastard."

Hanzo doesn't bother with a response.

Jesse stirs in the seat, once, twice. "Reckon I should head to the store before it closes," he says eventually. "We gotta get you a toothbrush at least. Doubt you'd be keen to use mine." A pause. "I mean, assuming you'll stay." Another pause; Hanzo glances at Jesse's face to see him briefly chew his lip and look at Hanzo with uncharacteristic apprehension. "You're staying, right? I think you might like it here. You don't gotta do anythin' around the farm if you don't wanna, I manage just fine on my own, and there's plenty of places to explore if you get bored…"

Jesse finally trails off at the sight of Hanzo's exasperated expression. Hanzo stares at him for a few more seconds, just to make sure the message comes across. "I came here for you," he says finally. "I am not going anywhere unless you physically throw me out."

Jesse hums noncommittally. "You're no farmer, though."

"Neither are you."

"Hah. See, that's where you're wrong. I grew up on a farm, I never tell you that? Ran the hell away the first chance I got, of course. I'm thinkin' maybe that's why I ended up here. Circle of life, back to my roots and so on." The corner of Jesse's mouth lifts in a wry smile. "I'm basically a jumped-up peasant and you're a prince. You deserve a palace, not a shoddy little farm."

"What I _deserve_ is —"

The smile evaporates. "Don't," Jesse snaps with a sudden glare. "I don't wanna hear it. We had this talk already and you deserve good things just as much as I do."

The outburst passes almost as quickly as it appeared. Jesse gradually relaxes and eventually sighs.

"I will try to refrain from judging myself harshly if you never call yourself a peasant again," Hanzo offers drily before Jesse can start apologizing. "And I would rather be the world's worst farmer at your side than a prince without you."

"Aww. Darlin', that's the single most romantic —"

" _As long_ as you don't expect me to tend to any cows."

"— Nevermind," Jesse laughs, abruptly pulling him into an awkward sideways hug.

Of course now that Hanzo actually _does_ smile, his face is smushed against Jesse's shoulder where Jesse can't see it.

* * *

Only after they step though the gate and Ashe the goat greets them with a nasal bleat does Hanzo finally remember that he came here with luggage.

The backpack and the bow case lie where he dropped them, at the base of the maple tree, explored by a few ambitious ants. Hanzo is still purposefully avoiding thoughts of before, but he's almost sure his things were unpacked the last time he saw them, and the bow was definitely assembled; now it's folded back in its case, together with a full quiver, and his clothes and necessities are neatly arranged inside the backpack.

He pulls out the toothbrush and wordlessly holds it up for Jesse to see.

"Well, we still gotta buy some stuff," Jesse drawls, "unless you had _excellent_ foresight when you did the packing."

Hanzo closes the backpack and rises from the crouch. "So you have never —?"

"What, slept with someone? Hell no. Didn't even think about it until recently, to tell the truth. Even if I did, hard to find a one-night stand in a town where everyone knows everyone."

"You could have left the town and gone somewhere further. Surely there are other settlements around here."

Jesse opens his mouth, closes it, frowns. "Huh. Guess it never occurred to me I could. Like I said: didn't really think much about it, between missin' you and runnin' the farm and all that."

"Aren't you going to scandalize the whole town if you walk into a pharmacy and ask for condoms, then?"

"Pharmacy? This town has one store, darlin'." Jesse grins. "There won't be no scandal, but boy, will there be gossip. The whole town will know about you come evening. I'll be surprised if at least one person doesn't come callin' tomorrow under some sort of a pretense."

"Perhaps I should stay here, then. To make your purchase appropriately mysterious."

Jesse's grin widens in delight. "Damn, I'm almost tempted to say yes. But naw, I'm not ready to let you out of my sight yet. Just be yourself, darlin', and the town will be abuzz with gossip within an hour."

Hanzo squints at him suspiciously. "What do you mean, 'be yourself'?"

The grin progresses to shit-eating and Jesse refuses to explain himself, despite Hanzo's glowering and demands. For a moment it's like they've never been separated at all, Jesse ribbing Hanzo playfully and Hanzo pretending to be disdainful while the last of the of ice around his heart melts away. It doesn't last as long as he'd like — Jesse gets distracted showing him where to drop off the backpack and the bow, and then they run into a ginger cat with multicolored eyes and Jesse immediately begins the introductions — but as they finally leave the farm and start towards the town and its only store, Jesse extends an arm in invitation and Hanzo ducks under it and wraps his own arm around Jesse's waist, and that is also good.

The town is just as pretty as everything else Hanzo has seen so far, buildings painted in colors not too bright to be tasteful, trees and greenery everywhere and that pink flowering vine climbing every second fence. Rustic and just clean enough to feel like a living settlement and not an open-air museum. Jesse greets the few people they encounter with a hat tip and a 'howdy', and once they're in a safe distance gives Hanzo a one-sentence summary of who they are which Hanzo is still too distracted to memorize. He can feel the curiosity coming off in waves from every person on the way, but everyone's too polite to ask about the stranger at Jesse's side.

The store is empty bar the owner and a young woman with a bad dye job who must be his daughter. Most townsfolk are busy at this hour, Jesse explains under his breath, and they're lucky because just a few hours later the store will become the center of all kinds of social gatherings. Hanzo doesn't care: he's ready to take on the whole town if need be. He thinks with a shadow of amusement that he might actually have to at some point, because Jesse is oblivious, chatting happily with the storeowner while he pays for their purchases, but Hanzo is very much aware of the way the daughter glares daggers at him when she thinks he's not looking.

He can't blame anyone for falling in love with Jesse — it's inevitable once you get to know him — but these people had two years to make their move and if they neglected to do so, they can only blame themselves. 

"Abigail's stubborn as a mule, bless her heart," Jesse murmurs after they leave the store, proving that once again Hanzo has shamefully underestimated him. "She's a sweet girl, but." A shrug, a smile, and Jesse transfers the bag to his left hand and extends the right to Hanzo. "She'll get over it eventually."

They've never really done it before, walking hand in hand; it wasn't something Hanzo was accustomed to, and it felt somewhat inappropriate while they were still technically coworkers. After the initial instinctive apprehension he fails to come up with any reason they shouldn't do so now.

"At this rate I'll become this town's enemy number one overnight," he says, interlocking their fingers for good measure.

"Pretty sure most folks already wrote me off, and the worst they're capable of is askin' you meaningfully about your marriage plans. You'll be fine."

"A shame. I think I would enjoy becoming an archnemesis."

Instead of the expected response Hanzo gets his hand squeezed hard. A glance reveals that Jesse is staring at him with an expression that makes him wish they weren't in public, and that Jesse didn't decide to be overly considerate at the worst possible moment.

"Regretting your decision?" he asks, arching an eyebrow.

"Immensely," Jesse replies immediately and with feeling, but the smile doesn't waver; if anything, it becomes even brighter. 

* * *

Everything is perfect, and yet something is missing. It niggles at Hanzo's mind on the way back from the town. It keeps bothering him while Jesse cooks dinner and tells stories, while they eat and when they sit at the garden table again with ice cream, shooing away curious bees. The penny finally drops when he sees the spoon sticking out of Jesse's mouth.

He hasn't seen Jesse smoke once since he came here.

"Did you quit smoking?" he asks disbelievingly.

Jesse makes a vague noise around the spoon, swallows and winces. "'Fraid not," he says finally, "but I did cut down a lot. If there's one thing this place is missin', it's quality tobacco."

"Oh no," Hanzo intones flatly.

Jesse huffs and kicks him under the table. "At least it's easier to cut down when there's always somethin' to be done around the farm instead."

"What about your bourbon?"

"Booze is easier to come across, and I can make my own now, which is kind of fun." Jesse pauses. "Oh. I think you'll like some of the stuff I got aging in the cellar."

"You have a _wine cellar_?"

"Sure do. And boy, am I glad now that I do." Jesse glances down as if he's embarrassed; Hanzo could swear there's a blush creeping under the tan. "I, uh. Might've tried my hand at plum wine a while ago."

"You don't even _like_ wine," Hanzo points out, increasingly incredulous.

"Yeah," Jesse says sheepishly, staring at his ice cream, and after he processes that, Hanzo has to stand up, walk over to his side of the table and pull him, still sitting, into a hug.

Jesse wraps his arms around Hanzo's midsection and presses his face into his stomach. "Yeah, I did a bunch of stupid shit 'cause I missed you," he mumbles. "That wine's probably not even drinkable."

"Let me be the judge of that."

"Heh. At least I know you won't lie to spare my feelings."

"You can count on that," Hanzo assures him, petting his hair.

Jesse mumbles something unintelligible and stops moving altogether, only emitting a whine of protest when Hanzo's hand stalls for a moment. Hanzo isn't sure for how long they stay like that. At some point he closes his eyes and tunes out everything but the warmth of breath blooming on his stomach and forever-untidy hair between his fingers, and the forgotten remainder of ice cream melts in Jesse's bowl, to the bees' great satisfaction.

Just as Hanzo starts wondering if he fell asleep, Jesse sighs, releases him from the embrace, admonishes the bees for eating stuff that isn't good for them and suggests they relocate to the porch. That's where the cigar finally makes an appearance. Hanzo watches Jesse light up in the lengthening shadows of late afternoon and thinks of sunsets on Gibraltar, of how he watched this little ritual hundreds of times before everything collapsed. Jesse's thoughts must be running along the same path, because after the cigar is lit and the sweet smell of tobacco permeates the air, they look at each other and Hanzo wordlessly scoots to the side, making space for Jesse to lie down with his head in Hanzo's lap: another little ritual they had developed back in the day. Neither of them speaks.

Afterwards, Jesse sets to attending his neglected duties as a farmer. Hanzo trails after him like a lost puppy until the animals are back where they belong, troughs are filled, plants watered, gates closed, tools cleaned up and a dozen other points on an invisible checklist ticked off. The sunset is as gorgeous as everything else in the valley, a blaze of colors that takes up half the sky, and Hanzo wishes he had even an inkling of artistic talent to capture it. He's not sure if he ever went to sleep this early, but exhaustion starts creeping up on him again, and Jesse's movements gradually lose their briskness.

Jesse sheepishly offers him the guest bed. Hanzo informs him in no uncertain terms that this is the first and last time he won't take offense at the suggestion.

It feels shockingly domestic to unpack his toiletries and brush his teeth in Jesse's bathroom, enough that the world takes on some of that unreal, dreamy quality again — at least until he looks into a mirror and sees the grey hair and the bruises under his eyes. That anchors him back in reality, if not in the way he'd prefer. He's saved from staring at his tired, aged reflection when Jesse knocks to hand him a towel, already ready for bed himself, and looks at him like he's the most beautiful thing in the world.

When he enters the bedroom, Jesse's searching gaze flits over his body. Hanzo has gained a few new scars, but none of them serious; Jesse relaxes and smiles, pulling the covers back in invitation. The bed is wide enough for one sprawling or two very friendly people, and it suits Hanzo just fine. They managed with narrower beds while in Overwatch. Even when they occasionally got a chance to sleep somewhere with a larger bed, usually a hotel, they always ended up tangled together in the middle of it anyway, both unerringly gravitating towards the other in their sleep.

There's an awkward moment of relearning how to fit comfortably against each other, and it takes a few attempts before they reach a satisfactorily comfortable arrangement, but they end up facing each other, one of Jesse's arms under Hanzo's pillow, the other a heavy, comforting weight on his hip.

"Love you," Jesse murmurs in the dark.

"Love you," Hanzo whispers back.

It's so quiet that for a moment he wonders if he'll be able to sleep at all, the silence around them so complete his ears start ringing, but then he realizes it's not absolute, that there is a sound to lull him to sleep: Jesse's calm, slow breath. Hanzo focuses on it, matches it and drifts off.

* * *

Whatever entity sent Hanzo here wasn't merciful enough to spare him the nightmares.

He wakes up in cold sweat, muscles locked, and for a few horrible seconds he can't breathe, absolutely sure it was all a dream. When he finally manages to catch a breath, it's only for an animal whine of despair to rise from his chest.

"Hanzo?"

It takes a good few moments for the fog of panic to lift enough for him to realize that the voice is Jesse's, and there's a solid and carefully still wall of warmth along his side. He scrambles to turn and plasters himself to what turns out to be Jesse's back, wraps an arm around his chest and holds on like a castaway clinging to a life raft.

Jesse is no stranger to nightmares and doesn't ask questions, just covers Hanzo's shaking hand with his own and pushes at it insistently until it's over his heart and Hanzo can feel the heartbeat under his palm, even and strong. Hanzo closes his eyes, presses his forehead to the nape of Jesse's neck and focuses on that heartbeat and the way Jesse's back moves with each breath. The dream clings to him like a dirty, sticky film; not even counting Jesse's breaths helps.

"Tell me," Jesse murmurs. "If you want."

"They didn't want to let me see you when they found you."

Jesse twitches and tries to turn around, but Hanzo stops him, tightening the grip across his chest.

"I had to threaten Winston with dragons to get past him. I regretted it afterwards."

"Guess they must've done a right number on me, huh." Jesse tries for a light tone and fails. Hanzo doesn't resist when he laces their fingers together instead, the grip strong and reassuring, and presses their linked hands to his chest again.

Jesse is here, alive and whole, but Hanzo will carry the memory of his body after Talon was done with him for as long as he exists, along with the memory of Genji dying on the floor.

The words keep spilling. "I killed Doomfist for it. I hunted him for nearly a year, day and night, until he ran out of places to hide. And when I finally got him, I fed him to the dragons."

Jesse is silent for a while. "Did it help?" he asks eventually.

"No."

"Yeah. Never does."

"Had I known I would find you afterwards, I would —"

…No. He would not, even if he spent the majority of the last two years wishing for death. If he were inclined to take the coward's way out, he would have done so long before meeting Jesse. Perhaps this is one of the reasons he's here and not in some miserable pit. Whoever considered him worthy enough to let him reunite with Jesse would definitely not consider him so if he dishonored himself _and_ broke the word he gave to Genji.

Jesse forcibly pries Hanzo's arm off his waist and turns around, pulling him close, tucking his head under his chin. "If it helps, I don't remember much," he says after a while, stroking Hanzo's back soothingly. "Mostly just the beginning, before it got bad. They taught us how to withstand torture, back in Blackwatch. 'Self-induced dissociation' or somethin' like that. Gotta say, I'm real glad it worked."

Rationally, Hanzo knows Jesse carries none of the injuries he saw. He runs a hand down Jesse's side and back anyway, reaches up to his face, encounters nothing but intact skin and old, familiar scars. "Please tell me you're not lying to make me feel better."

"Wouldn't lie about this," Jesse replies quietly. "It wasn't all sunshine and roses when I came here, sure. Had my share of nightmares for a month or two. But I was spared the worst, and if I ever meet Reyes again, I'll have to thank him for that."

Whatever else he might have done, Gabriel Reyes is now another person Hanzo owes a life debt to.

Jesse sighs and squeezes the nape of his neck reassuringly. "So whatever you saw, I wasn't in there anymore, okay? None of that shit happened to me. I'm here, in one piece, and all Talon got was a meatbag." A pause. "Heh. I bet that really pissed them off."

Only Jesse could try to joke about this. "Stop," Hanzo pleads through sudden nausea.

"Sorry."

He focuses on the smell of Jesse's skin and the slow, steady swoops of his hand down his back, and the nausea slowly passes.

"How did you —" Jesse cuts off, exhales heavily. "I probably don't wanna know, do I?"

"I don't know. I was in a hotel room, and then I was suddenly at a train station. Most likely a sniper. I rose significantly in Talon's ranking of enemies during the last two years." Hanzo snorts bitterly. "I guess they finally learned they couldn't get me any other way. Cowards."

"Small blessings," Jesse murmurs. "Still doesn't feel right to be happy you're here."

"I am." Hanzo takes a deep breath and releases it, and some of the tension finally seeps out with it. "I only wish I could apologize to Genji."

"Genji's a resilient sonofabitch. He'll be okay."

"I hope so. His life has always been better without me in it, anyway."

Jesse's hand stills. For a moment Hanzo expects another outburst of anger, but Jesse merely repositions himself with a grunt, leans against the pillows, manhandles Hanzo into lying half on top of him and closes his arms around him, like he's trying to shield him from the darkness.

"Are Zen and Mercy still around?" he asks.

Hanzo hums a confirmation.

"Good. They'll stop him from doing anythin' dumber than usual. He'll go on a murder spree or two and he'll be fine."

Jesse's hand resumes its path from the nape of Hanzo's neck down his back, calm and steady. The touch slowly leeches out the tension and fear until there's only resigned exhaustion and the heartbeat under his ear, and then finally nothing.

* * *

"Hey. Hey, sweetheart, wake up."

This time there's no fear. Hanzo wakes with his face half smushed into a pillow that smells of Jesse, takes a deep breath, squints and takes stock of his surroundings. Grey light of a cloudy morning. A patter of raindrops on the window. Comfortable bed. A plaid shirt in front of his face.

Jesse is dressed already, sat on the edge of the bed and leaning over him with a smile. "I gotta go out for a while," he says, reaching to push a loose strand of hair out of Hanzo's face. "You can go back to sleep, just wanted you to know in case you woke up alone. I'll be back soon, I promise."

Hanzo smiles up at him.

Jesse's face does something complicated that Hanzo, squinting with one eye as he is, doesn't get a good look at before Jesse leans in, brushes a kiss against his temple and stands up. "Be back in a jiffy," he repeats from the door.

Hanzo emits an affirmative hum, and when Jesse is gone, takes a deep breath and rolls over to his back. He has slept absurdly long already and there's no way he can fall asleep again, but he's also not especially keen to go out in the rain to assist Jesse with what is presumably tending to the animals.

Perhaps he should use the opportunity to try and make himself look a little less like a wreck.

It's easier said than done, he discovers, looking at himself in the bathroom mirror in the light of day. No amount of beauty sleep could wipe two years' worth of neglect off his face, nor can he do anything about the grey hair without abandoning his dignity. What he _can_ do is shave properly and trim the sides of his head as short as the razor allows. At least the constant manhunt didn't leave him a chance to ruin his body.

He turns away from the reflection and steps into the shower. For as long as Jesse looks at him the way he does, it's the only thing that matters.

Whatever mysterious force had restored his backpack did not make the clothes inside clean, unfortunately. Jesse must have come to a similar conclusion, because after wrinkling his nose at the less-than-fresh odor emanating from his clothes, Hanzo realizes there's a pair of dark blue sweatpants and another plaid shirt laid out on a chair next to the bed — the sweatpants too long, of course, and the shirt ill-fitting, but just the fact that they belong to Jesse makes them desirable. Hanzo rolls up the sleeves and sets out to explore.

The house isn't as small as it looked from the outside. Hanzo peeks into several rooms, most of them storage stacked with boxes, barrels and sacks, but only the large one connected to the kitchen bears signs of Jesse's presence. The kitchen looks the most lived-in, with several knickknacks on shelves and a few framed pictures and, strangely, a tall cactus plant in a pot in a corner. Hanzo sits in the only chair and looks around.

This has been Jesse's life for two years. Hanzo isn't sure how he might fit in it. Unskilled as he is in pretty much anything farm-related, he could still be of use for simple manual labor — or he could always cook, he supposes; he's picked up the basics over the years and he's certainly capable of following instructions.

Maybe he could even start now, since Jesse is still somewhere outside.

He's about to peek into the fridge when he spots a familiar box among the other containers on the counter, and stares at it for a while before lifting the lid. The door in the hall opens, closes. Hanzo sniffs the contents of the box and turns towards the door with his eyebrows raised.

"Mornin', sunshine," Jesse greets him with a wide smile.

"Since when do you eat nori?"

Jesse stops and winces. "I _told_ you I did a lot of stupid shit —"

Hanzo closes the box, walks over to him and kisses him.

He doesn't mean for it to lead to anything. It's just a way to express the feeling he cannot put into words. Jesse returns the kiss eagerly, though, and Hanzo can only match the fervor, and suddenly it's two years of desperate longing compressed into one increasingly heated moment; before he knows it, Jesse's hands are under his shirt, fingers splayed on the skin and inching up, and his own have found their way into Jesse's hair again.

Jesse is the first to break away. "Dammit," he murmurs, noticeably out of breath. "Sorry about that."

The fire briefly stoked yesterday is back, all the more intense for how long it was dead, and Hanzo feels like he might actually burn up with it if Jesse makes another misguided attempt to take things slow. "We waited for a day, like you wanted," he points out. It comes out a lot more pleading than intended, but he can't find it in him to care.

"Well, technically it ain't been a whole day," Jesse starts, but the fingers under Hanzo's shirt briefly curl, and Hanzo feels that touch all the way down to his toes; he drops his forehead to Jesse's shoulder and groans quietly at the sensation. "I didn't mean to start anythin' —"

This conversation has lasted long enough. Hanzo still remembers his way around Jesse's body, he'd spent hours at a time mapping it down to every little detail, and he turns his head and bites down where Jesse's neck meets shoulder, not too hard but enough for Jesse to feel it. Jesse shudders, and whatever else he was going to say dissolves into a groan much louder than Hanzo's before, followed by a heartfelt curse.

"If you try to make me wait again, I will drag you to bed by the hair," Hanzo growls against the bite mark.

Jesse gasp-laughs at that, and gasps again when Hanzo pulls out all the stops, worms his hands under his shirt and drags nails through the trail of hair on his stomach. "Okay, fine. Just let me —"

" _Jesse_."

" — Let me wash my hands, goddammit," Jesse gripes, stepping back. "Unless you don't mind eau de cow."

Hanzo wrinkles his nose in disgust. Jesse laughs all the way to the bathroom.

* * *

In the end they don't even manage to get all the clothes off. Hanzo drags Jesse down onto the bed, pulls his shirt off clumsily and the moment they're skin to skin, he's lost; he forgets what words are but Jesse talks for them both, broken off confessions, pleas and curses and Hanzo's name, over and over. They grasp at each other frantically, trying to make up for all the time they lost, getting in each other's way instead and only wanting more for it. Hanzo pulls at Jesse until he gives up trying not to crush him and lets him have all his weight, until there's not a millimeter of space between them, and they never progress past kissing and clinging and rutting against each other, incapable of letting go. Neither of them lasts even a fraction of the time they used to.

Somehow it's still perfect.

Hanzo is so happy he's one step away from being terrified out of his mind. After he gathers enough courage to say it out loud, Jesse simply smothers him with his weight again and holds him there until both hunger and the need for cleanup finally push them out of the bed.

Jesse makes them omelets and onigiri for breakfast and acts like the latter is somehow a reason to be ashamed, while Hanzo just stares at him with what is probably hearts in his eyes. There's sencha in the cupboard too, and miso paste, and decent rice; there's even pickled daikon in the fridge, although Jesse confesses he's never really warmed up to it. When sufficiently interrogated, he pulls a basic Japanese cookbook out of a drawer.

It makes Hanzo feel even less worthy to be here.

"You can do all of this," he says grimly, gesturing widely at the kitchen and beyond, "and all I'm good at is killing. Stop acting like you're the inferior one."

Jesse gives him an assessing look. "Not true. You also know how to suck dick," he deadpans. Hanzo nearly chokes on a piece of daikon.

The coughing and wheezing attract the attention of Moira, the ginger cat with strange eyes. When he's done wiping tears off his face and swearing, Hanzo notices her sitting in the doorway, staring at him with clear fascination.

"Look who finally made an appearance," Jesse comments, picking a bowl off the floor.

Moira stands up, walks over to Hanzo and gives his bare foot an unsettlingly thorough sniff, and only after finishing the investigation goes unhurriedly for her breakfast.

Jesse shrugs at Hanzo's questioning look. "I didn't name her Moira just for the eyes," he says cryptically. "Looks like you're an acceptable addition to the household."

"Now you have a cow, a goat, a cat and a ninja."

Jesse raises a finger. "And chickens."

"How could I have forgotten the chickens," Hanzo agrees gravely.

* * *

Hanzo quickly discovers that perhaps he won't be as useless on the farm as he thought. The light rain passes before they finish breakfast, and after going through the wardrobe to find some old clothes for Hanzo that more or less fit, Jesse enlists his help with sowing previously neglected carrots. Turns out that scraping the ground with a hoe is not rocket science, and neither is raking, while both make for an excellent workout; half an hour in and Hanzo is just as sweaty as Jesse was before.

"We need to get you a hat pronto," Jesse comments at some point. Hanzo has already resigned himself to a sunburn.

It's unexpectedly satisfying to drop tiny seeds into shallow holes in the ground. "You don't gotta count them," Jesse quips at the sight of Hanzo on his knees, measuring out seeds with zealous precision. Hanzo flips him off. Jesse snorts and moves in to close the tiny holes with soil. The work goes smoothly after that, as Hanzo gains confidence and practice: him sowing, Jesse covering the seeds, until what needed to be sown is sown, sprinklers start their work, and Hanzo is sore, muddy, definitely starting to burn and glowing with deep, strange satisfaction.

Jesse captures him by the waist from behind as they head to the house to clean up. "Never before have I gotten horny while sowing carrots," he breathes into Hanzo's ear, grinding against his ass suggestively, and they end up washing hurriedly just to get dirty again.

The theme continues pretty much for the rest of the day. Apparently Jesse finds Hanzo the most irresistible when he's on his knees and up to his elbows in dirt; after he shows Hanzo how to weed garden beds and gets amorous again, Hanzo accuses him of having developed strange kinks in his absence. Jesse sputters and starts defending himself before he notices Hanzo's grin.

"You're just crazy hot when you're focused," he explains eventually, thumbing gently at the frown line between Hanzo's eyebrows. "And it doesn't help when you're on your goddamn knees and wearin' my clothes."

All those physical activities add up to bone-deep exhaustion and equally deep satisfaction in the evening. Jesse smokes on the porch with his head in Hanzo's lap again, humming a tune Hanzo doesn't recognize under his breath, and this time Moira joins them, curled up in the last sunny spot on the stairs. When they go to bed, they fall asleep comfortably wrapped around each other, and Hanzo is out like a light before he knows it.

There are no nightmares that night. Hanzo does wake up at some point, because there is a limit to the miracles, but it's a calm awakening this time. Normally he would give up on sleep for the rest of the night, out of fear and because of the usual futility of the effort, but this time he does try, closes his eyes again and listens to Jesse breathe. It doesn't work. After a few minutes he carefully turns to his side, makes himself comfortable and watches Jesse sleep instead, and that, apparently, eventually makes him drift off. The next thing he knows it's a sunny morning, and Jesse's face is pressed against his pectorals, Hanzo's arm over his shoulder, their legs tangled together.

At breakfast, beset by sudden cravings, Hanzo wishes that Jesse's adventures in Japanese cuisine included nattō. He doubts it's possible to obtain it in this strange place until he remembers that Jesse somehow procured nori and daikon before.

"Pierre ordered the stuff for me from somewhere," Jesse confirms. "Don't ask me how it works, but I'm pretty sure that given enough time he'll find anythin' you ask for. That, or I ain't managed to ask for weird enough shit yet. But he did get me Japanese foodstuffs and ammo for Peacekeeper, and never batted an eyelid."

Hanzo suddenly realizes he hasn't seen the revolver anywhere.

"I keep her locked up," Jesse adds. "Not much point carryin' a gun around here, unless you get bored and decide to try your luck in the mines. And speakin' of the store, I gotta go buy a few things."

It quickly becomes apparent that Jesse wants to go shopping alone this time. Hanzo lets him go. He can still feel yesterday's effort in his muscles, and he's rooted in this strange reality deep enough now that letting Jesse out of his sight no longer twists his stomach in knots. He selects a book from Jesse's collection instead, carries a cushion out to the porch and lies on the swing.

* * *

"Hey, sleepin' beauty."

Hanzo blinks and looks to the side, at Jesse's amused face, then at the open book on his chest. He hasn't even gotten through ten pages. 

"Tired after yesterday?" Jesse asks with an insufferably smug grin and dangles the fabric bag in his hand before Hanzo can come up with an appropriately scathing answer. "Got you some sunscreen and a hat catalogue. Pierre says he'll look into your rotten beans, see what he can do." 

"You're spoiling me," Hanzo murmurs, sitting up.

"Damn right." Jesse clears his throat. "I, uh, got one more thing to show you. I'll just drop these off real quick."

It's the most cagey Jesse's sounded yet. Curiosity piqued, Hanzo puts the book away, stretches and heads inside, but he doesn't even manage to get his shoes off before Jesse walks out of the kitchen, clearly in a hurry, and shoos him outside again. Hanzo follows him to the gate, where Jesse tells him to wait, ducks behind a tree and picks something up from the ground.

"It's a cherry blossom tree," he says, extending the plastic-wrapped pot towards Hanzo. "Seemed like you had fun doin' garden work yesterday. Thought you might wanna grow somethin' that'll be yours alone."

Hanzo looks at the tiny tree, then at Jesse again, at a loss for words.

"Things grow fast in the valley, but it'll probably take at least a year," Jesse mumbles, eyes downcast, hiding in the shadow of the brim of the hat. "Pierre said it should flower the next spring, though, even when it's so small." He clears his throat in the silence. "Guess I do dumb shit even when you're here, huh."

Hanzo reaches out without a word and Jesse places the pot in his hands. There's that ache in Hanzo's chest again; he blinks rapidly and realizes he can't wipe the tears away with both hands occupied. He places the pot on the ground, very carefully and making sure it's stable, before turning and hiding his face in the crook between Jesse's neck and shoulder.

Jesse's arms come up around him. "I'm guessin' you like it, then."

Hanzo takes a deep breath, but he's still not sure of the stability of his voice, so he hums affirmatively instead.

"You can plant it now if you want, or it can wait for a day or two if you're tired. No hurry."

"I hope you don't expect me to build a house and father a son next," Hanzo says thickly.

"Hey, the place's magical," Jesse says with an audible grin. "You never know."

Hanzo emits a distressed noise and Jesse starts laughing, his shoulder shaking under Hanzo's cheek, and after a while Hanzo laughs wetly too. They're standing and hugging in almost the same spot as two days ago, but these are very different tears and that was just the end of a bad dream. This is real.

"Let's go," Hanzo says finally, taking a step back and wiping his eyes with a forearm. "We have a tree to plant."

  


**Author's Note:**

> Aforementioned heavy themes, without graphic detail: death, including major character death, suicide, torture and its aftermath, grief.


End file.
